


Third Time's the Charm

by LadyAJ_13



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Canon-Typical Behavior, M/M, Surprise Kissing, They may be a contradiction in terms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:41:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21617761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAJ_13/pseuds/LadyAJ_13
Summary: It takes three kisses, in the end, to get on the same page.
Relationships: Gene Hunt/Sam Tyler
Comments: 9
Kudos: 90





	Third Time's the Charm

Gene is unusually quiet in the Railway Arms that evening. Sam takes the spare seat at his table, flopping down into it. Their legs knock and Gene grunts, kicking him. Sam ignores it.

“All right?”

Gene looks at him steadily. It's the same blank stare he's been using all week, but now it's half washed away by several pints with whiskey chasers, and Sam realises the feeling that's been nagging him was right. Things are not well with the Guv.

“My wife left me.”

“What?”

“Turns out it's hard to employ one's legendary skills as a lover when she's living at her mother's.”

Sam looks down at his beer. “I'm sorry, Gene-”

“Did I tell you this sob story to have a shoulder to cry on, or did I tell you this sob story to get you to buy me a new pint?” Gene tips his last mouthful of beer back, slamming the glass on the table with a crack. “Based on previous behavioural actions, or whatever rubbish you'd call it, I think it's the latter.”

Sam smiles, small, and heads to the bar. The least he can do is keep the pints coming.

–

“Are you after Cartwright?” Gene asks him out of the blue a few weeks later. They're driving back to the station after interviewing witnesses, and Sam holds on to the ceiling as they take a corner too fast. “It's a simple question,” Gene spits into the silence.

He supposes it is. “I suppose I am.”

“Right.”

–

Gene disappears after that. Not literally, of course – there's nowhere to hide in a department the size of theirs, and nothing can make the Guv inconspicuous. But he hauls Ray with him whenever he heads out, and he plays darts at the pub if he goes at all, which Sam hates, leaving him sat at the bar talking to Nelson, or next to Annie. He stops cornering Sam, and it doesn't seem to matter how often Sam rips into him about proper procedure, he finds a way to cut the interaction off and step away.

It's disconcerting.

The clock ticks past five. Chris takes one look at it and runs. Ray follows him sharpish, then Annie heads out with an apologetic smile after Sam waves her away. There might be piles of paperwork, but nothing that can't wait until tomorrow. Besides, he's about ready to knock heads with Gene and get whatever this is out in the open, and it'll be easier without an audience. He strides into his office, closes the door firmly, and locks it. “Guv,” he starts.

Gene doesn't look up. “Tyler.”

“Are you going to tell me what I've done?”

“If you don't know, Doris-” he slams a piece of paper onto a pile, and pulls out a new sheet, “-then I can't help you. Have you tried retracing your steps? Preferably – for a start – right back out of my office.”

It looks like he's actually reading the reports the team put together on Sam's say-so, and it derails him for a second. He gathers his wits. “You've been avoiding me for weeks.”

“Bingo.”

He double-takes, not expecting agreement. “Why?” he asks, as Gene slams another report across to the read pile. The motion doesn’t seem angry as such, or at least no more than Gene Hunt's natural base level – more a way to mark his progress through the pile. He is sat at his desk, taking part in a procedure Sam put in place. Sam has not had to argue him into it. It'd be a bloody miracle, except he's all caught up in worrying about what it _means_. He can't help but follow Gene's movements, like a twitcher transfixed by a rare bird sighting.

“You and Cartwright.”

Annie? What's she – oh. A light dawns. “Are you also trying to woo her?”

“Woo her?” Gene finally looks up, meeting his gaze. “Christ, Tyler, are you actually my maiden aunt Dorothy reincarnated? Who knew she'd make a half-decent copper, I could've put her to work before she died. Although now your fashion choices make more sense.”

“Well?” Sam shifts uncomfortably. “Are you?”

“No I am not. Now get out of my office.”

The thing is, he believes him. Which means this is about something else. He takes a breath, trying to remember all his interview training. Chances are, Gene's never heard of half the techniques. Doesn’t mean he'll fall for them. “This is the longest you've spoken to me in weeks-”

“-Because you've locked us both in here-”

“-dammit Gene-”

“-like some kind of-”

“-I just want to know WHY!”

Well, that was proper technique out the window. He unclenches his fists. The nails have cut into his palms.

Gene leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. “You said you wanted Cartwright.”

He must be missing something. How is this about Annie? Gene sounds like he thinks he's been helping, but how has derailing their partnership, setting him on edge, helped? Is Annie meant to have taken him under her wing? Comforted him? They're still DI and DC, for all that they're friends, she's no replacement for the working rapport he's got with Gene. Or had with him, before he started acting like such a distant twat.

“So?”

“So, Samantha, if I'm around all I have to do is say jump and you're at my heels like a good little doggie. Maybe I wanted to give you a chance to play the top dog for the bint.”

Sam bristles. “I don't  _jump-”_

“If I told you to come with me to haul in a suspect.”

“That's work, you're my boss.” Besides, if I didn't, you'd haul me over the coals instead, he adds silently. Not to mention the case would suffer, if Gene was left to deal with a suspect without Sam there to hold him in check. Letting the guilty walk on a police brutality technicality – that's something he'll never risk.

“If I told you to come to the pub after work.”

“We all go to the pub-”

Gene stands, chair screeching as it's pushed back. He rounds the desk, up in Sam's face for the first time in ages, hands rough on his chest. “If I push you.”

Sam staggers backwards with the force, bouncing off the wall. “I'd push back-”

Gene grabs him by the collar and holds him still. The next word is said low, quiet, directly into his ear. “Exactly.”

“What-”

Gene kisses him, short, hard, more an attack than a kiss; a motion that bangs his head back into the wall, he's going to have a lump there –

And then he's gone. Sam stares at him.

“Most men, Sammy boy, would hit me for that.”

“You want me to hit you?” His voice is raspy, not enough air entering his lungs, and he sags, suddenly glad for the wall, letting it hold him up. Gene Hunt just kissed him. _Gene Hunt_. There isn't enough processing power in his brain to make sense of this.

“You should hit me.”

He can't. Not because of the – the – what just happened, but because Gene isn't squaring up to him any more, and Sam's not one to throw the first fist if he can avoid it. He gapes. “No, I- I-”

“That-” Gene walks away, grabbing his coat, but pointing a finger back at Sam. “-is why.”

“Wait.” He's still putting on his coat, and there's something forming, high and tight in Sam's throat, at the sight of it. He crosses the office in two quick strides and yanks back on one shoulder, spinning Gene to face him. “Jesus Gene, just wait!”

They stare at each other again. Sam is unusually glad for the well-lit office outside these walls, for being able to see, for knowing there's no one in the shadows, watching through the partially-drawn office blinds. “You like me?”

“Let's get one thing straight-” Sam huffs a laugh, and Gene looks at him quizzically. “Gladys,” he adds. “I don't like you.”

“What, so this-”

“I distract you,” Gene says, in the same low tone as before, but now it sounds cold. “And you can't do this,” he motions a finger back and forth between them, “because it will eat you alive. The people out _there_ , will eat you alive. But you want Cartwright. You can have her.” He straightens up, like the matter is closed. “She flutters her eyelashes.”

Annie. God, he'd forgotten all about her. He does want her; he wants to make her smile, and he wants her by his side, and he wants to talk to her, she's the only one who listens, and – and he's not sure he wants more. He wants, so much, to be near her, but does he want to take her home? He'd never really stopped to think about it, just known Annie and thought – yes, I like her. Who wouldn't?

He scrubs his hands over his face, growling. Gene has got him all turned around.

“I think you're projecting,” he says, instead of answering. It's pretty clear that's what's happening here, because Sam has certainly never thought about kissing Gene before today, while Gene, it seems, has thought this through in some detail. If either of them are to blame here, therefore, it's him – but he's throwing it solidly on Sam's shoulders, because he's a Neanderthal who can't believe a man who commands a police department and wears size 11 shoes could possibly want another bloke.

Gene wants him. That's a weird thought.

“I'm not a bleeding cinema Tyler-”

“No, projecting in a _psychological_ sense _._ You want me-” God, that thought - “but you can't handle it. So you blame me.”

Gene scowls, turning and unlocking the door, but Sam grabs him by the shoulder and pushes him back before he can open it. The glass, half-broken already, shakes. One of these days the whole pane is going to drop out. “You want me,” he repeats, and even he can hear his uncertainty. Gene scoffs, rolling his eyes, and opens his mouth to argue –

So Sam kisses him. And he understands the attack approach now, because he kisses Gene like it's a tackle, like he can keep him from hitting back, like he's proving a point. His hands are still on his shoulders, holding him tight to the broken pane, and he can't quite believe he's not been shoved off yet – and isn't that an indication he's right – because much as he hates to admit it, Gene is stronger. They're evenly matched in a fight because Sam is quicker, and better trained, but Gene has brute force and Sam would be stupidly easy to take down right now, distracted, but – but Gene isn't.

He's not kissing back particularly either, but he's not fighting. He's gone sort of... pliant. Seems Sam's finally found a way to shut him up. The idea sends something hot and foreign through him, this power, the idea of Gene doing as Sam says for once. This. This might be what he wants. In need of air, he breaks the kiss.

“People don't look at me and think fairy,” Gene says immediately.

Sam feels like groaning, but he wonders if it'd be misconstrued, his hands still clenched in Gene's coat, his body pressed up against the other man. “No,” he agrees.

“They do you.”

“They don't-”

“ _Tyler_.”

He stops. And it clicks. He drops his hold on Gene's lapels. “You're trying to protect me.”

“Go get Cartwright.”

“No-” He shakes his head, and steps back, “No, I'm sorry. You're trying to _protect_ me?! This was all – all a way to warn me off, what? The gay lifestyle? Make me panic about who might find out and I'll run back to Annie?” He can't help but laugh, sinking into the sofa and burrowing his head in his hands, elbows on knees. “I wasn't having a gay panic until you grabbed me.” He groans now, rubbing the heels of his hands over his eyes, because that was the best kiss he's had with his clothes on in years, that felt like something missing found, and _God._ Gene wasn't even kissing _back_. “I wasn't,” he says quietly.

“I may... have misjudged the situation.”

Sam laughs again, hopelessly.

“You want... you want to do that again?”

Sam shakes his head. “Not if you don't.” Gene clears his throat. It's clear, for once in his life, he doesn't know what to say. Sam can't handle him standing there, looking, any longer. “Just go to the pub. I'll be along in a bit.” Because he's not going to let this ruin them, he refuses. He'll head to the pub late, and he'll drink at the bar and talk to Nelson and he'll ignore Gene playing darts behind him, and everything will slowly fall back into place.

Gene hasn't moved.

“What?” he asks, finally, looking up. “Just _go._ ” 

Gene looks to the side. “Do you want to do that again?” he asks the skirting board.

Oh. Oh, it's like... Sam stands up. In for a penny, in for a pound, it seems. He'll probably find out tomorrow the Guv's stashed a tape recorder somewhere, that he'll cut the tape and create something damning, something to get Sam – the picky pain in his arse – out, once and for all. The thought can't stop the word bubbling up and out. “Yes.”

Gene nods.

“Oh, for-” Sam cuts himself off, stalking back to Gene and taking him once more by the lapels. He shakes, questioningly, and raises an eyebrow. “Yes?” he asks.

A large hand lands on the back of his head, guiding him in, and this – now  _this_ is it. What he wanted. Gene's kissing him, and he's kissing Gene, and it's fire. It's flames licking at his skin, it's blood heating his face, and no doubt Gene will rip it out of him for blushing but it's so much better like this. It's deep, and there's still a bite to it but not so much of the anger now, not so much of the fight, more of a give and take that sends shivers up his spine, and has him sidling in, sneaking an arm between Gene and the door to pull them closer. 

When it breaks this time, they're both panting.

“Yeah,” answers Gene, from millimetres away. Sam can't remember what the question was. “This'll be trouble,” he warns, but there's a slight smile defusing his furrowed brow. “I'll still knock ten hells out of you when you need it, and I don't do sweet nothings or cute nicknames.”

Sam just shrugs; it'd feel fake if he did, and he's not exactly looking for forevers. More of that heat, yes. But beyond that... his life's complicated enough. “I've got kind of used to Gladys.”

“Right then,” says Gene, straightening Sam's jacket. “Pint?”

Sam grins. “Yeah.”


End file.
